Not making eye contact, I ignore her sniping and mutter under my breath. “I need your help.” Help isn’t something I often ask for from anyone, let alone Izzy. She should know if I’m asking then I’m desperate. Everything has been horrible. My whole life has fallen apart, but I’ve never felt the need to fight like I do now, and with her help, I will succeed. Deep down in my heart, I just know it.
I twist the ring on my finger, plucking up the courage to look her square in the eyes. “Please.”
She locks eyes with me momentarily.
Then she sees it.
“You owe me big time for this,” she replies, the cup going down while she grabs at the papers.
I release a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. A soft smile curling on my face, I murmur, “Thank you." Something I seem to be saying to her a lot at the moment, but genuinely mean.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
I stand, sluggishly making my way to the bathroom to empty my bladder before we get stuck in. As I stop by the door, I can hear my mum quietly talking on the stairway. It sounds like she’s whispering, but I’m unsure as to why she would do that. Allowing curiosity to get the better of me, I continue to creep a little further down the hallway to eavesdrop. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Quietly positioning myself where she, hopefully, can’t see, I listen in. It’s difficult to hear, but I catch a couple of sentences.
“It’s too soon.”
“She’s not ready. Please don’t shout at me.”
My inquisitiveness kicks in and I inch forward. I want to know who she’s talking about. Who’s not ready? As my big toe gently presses down, the floorboard lets out a loud creak, and I panic.
She’s heard me. Shit.
I wrap my arms around my waist, hurriedly making my way back to the kitchen, bypassing the toilet. I’ll hold it. It can wait.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I drop back into the chair next to Izzy. “Let’s do this then.” I’m banging on a huge smile when all the while my mind is elsewhere. Just when I thought revision had my full attention, I’m flooded all over again with unanswered questions.
God damn my life.
Hitting survival mode without much thought, I straighten my back and try to convince myself that it was nothing important. Things have been strained for a while in this house. The last thing any of us need is me making things worse. Whatever it is Mum is trying to hide, I have to believe she'll tell me when she's ready.
Don't I?
I can hear Izzy talking beside me, and even though I'm trying to smile and nod in all the right places, all I can hear are those questions raging around in my mind. The only way to suppress them is to talk louder than them. My little chant takes on a life of its own.
Press it down. Push it back. Don't say a word. Press it down. Push it back. Don't say a word. Press it down. Push it back. Don't say a word.
It's never ending.
It has to be.
It's the only way from here on in.
Eight
24th October 2000
Five weeks we’ve been residents in halls at Leeds University. Five whole weeks and I’m still amazed Izzy and I managed to bag the same apartment. When we requested it, we were pretty much told not to hold out too much hope. I’m still suspicious that Izzy may have hauled her arse to the accommodation office on campus and had a quiet little word in their ears. Whatever it is, I’m certainly not complaining. Passing my A-Level’s and securing my place here is just the start of a run of good luck for me.
Within the first few days of being here, Mav and I met a lively, individual Latina girl called Lori Alverez. She stood straight out from a crowd of people for her outrageous dress sense and stunning beauty. She screams, “I’m wild, and I know it. Do not mess with me.” The moment my eyes landed on her, I knew we were going to hit it off. Mav was a little scared by her overpowering persona but as soon as they spoke, the three of us became pretty much inseparable.
Her room is only down the hall from ours, which has made it easier for when we go out partying together. Fresher’s week was insane. I have never seen another girl our age take so much whiskey. If I’m completely honest, I think I’m a little in love with her. After the first three weeks, Mav quickly cottoned on that if Lori can get away without studying, she will. Unfortunately, I seem to be falling into the same pattern, hence why she insists on us scheduling in study sessions together. As uptight as I find it, without her it’s likely I could fail.
All the partying and feet finding has given me little time to think about back home. It’s only now, as I travel in a taxi to visit home that my mind starts to wander. I have been as suspicious as ever as to what mum has been up to. I know it is something, but I can’t quite put my finger on what. The secret whispering and her regular disappearances with little or no explanation had become more frequent before I left for university. It’s hard to stop my vivid imagination from coming up with crazy ideas. Drinking has helped occupy my mind. I have considered getting a part-time job, but there is no need to. Dad made sure I have been left quite comfortable for a while, however objective he might have been about the way I spent it.
When we left, I promised her I would return home now and then so she could see for herself I am doing okay. I have left some stuff back at the house, which I need to collect, so it is as good a time as any to kill two birds with one stone. I must admit though; I have been a little sneaky in my approach. I haven’t told her I am visiting. I hadn’t intended it to be this way, but the more her behaviour before we left, plays on my mind, the more I have plotted. If she has nothing to hide then I guess it won’t be a problem. I will admit; it's times like these I wish I were more like Izzy and my dad. They never suffered from the ‘need to know’ niggle, always capable of shrugging things aside until presented with them. If I could relax, I would, but my brain will not stop seeking out the truth, no matter how many parties I hide out at.
After paying the taxi driver, I hop out with my satchel hanging over my shoulder. Stood outside the front of the house, I cast an eye over what used to be a happy, lively family home. It just looks like any other bricks and mortar on the street now. I don’t feel a connection like I used to. It hits me how much I miss him when I’m here. Being away in Leeds has allowed me to flood my mind with thoughts of anything but my dad. Alcohol has had a part to play in numbing the pain, too. One good thing about Lori, she has never asked questions. She’s a great drinking partner. I’m sure she suspects something, but I’m fed up of having to explain to everyone I meet what has happened in the past. It drags up all the hurt over and over again, like slashing open old wounds, leaving the healing process to start anew.
I take a deep breath in, pushing past any preconceptions of this visit. It’s likely I’m totally wrong, and this will be a boring, run of the mill visit home, with lots of forced smiles and nodding. An act I’ve become accustomed to around my mum. Unlocking the front door, I let myself in, drop my bag on the floor and throw my keys on the side. Making a beeline for the fridge, the first thing I do is slip back into teenage mode and hunt for some delicious, home-cooked food. One thing Mav and I are useless at is cooking. We’ve pretty much lived off takeaways and junk food since we started university. I reach in to pick up a tub of pasta when I stop in my tracks, slightly caught off guard when I hear a squeal.
My stomach instantly dips, taking my appetite with it as I slam the fridge shut and tiptoe towards the hallway.
“Mum? Is that you?” I speak softly, a large part of me not exactly wanting her to hear me. Deep down, I already know this isn't going to be good, but curiosity will always reign supreme with me. No matter how many times I tell myself to turn around, my feet seem to have a mind of their own. I'm a lost cause. With each small step, the anticipation builds and all sorts of notions fly around in my mind. As I round the top of the corridor, I hear another loud giggle and recognise my mum’s voice immediately. I’d recognise it anywhere as she often made the same sound when
she and my dad were playing around. It makes the knot in my tummy twist horrendously tight. I contemplate saying something else but before I know it, my arm is splayed across her bedroom door, sweeping it open.
The knot swiftly turns into a gip.
I was right. I knew it.
I stand glued to the spot as my hands begin to tremble. There are panicky voices echoing around the room, but I’m not registering them. I feel disorientated. My body is torn between utter shock and embarrassment. I want to scrunch my eyes up tight, but my mouth remains hanging open, unable to tear my sight away from the deceit I’m faced with. My voice has caught in my throat, stopping anything from falling out although, in my mind, I’m screaming.
I have to get out. I need to go.
I feel so suffocated, like the wind from my lungs has been punched right out until I cannot take another simple breath. In one fell swoop, she has wiped out any trust and respect I might have had for her. She’s betrayed me. Not once has she approached the subject of possibly going on a date, let alone sleeping with another man. I feel physically sick. I am disgusted that she could disrespect my father, too, so soon after his passing. What is she thinking?
An affair. A sodding affair with a man I know nothing about.
The anger rises at the same speed as my tears fall. I run back down the stairs and straight out of the front door, scooping up my bag from the floor and heading down the street as fast as my feet can take me. There is no way I can stay in that house ever again, under the same roof as that Judas. I have no clue whether they have followed me. My blurred eyes are struggling to focus on the path ahead, but I refuse to look back. I’ve witnessed enough to confirm what is going on. While I continue to pound my feet on the pavement, I’m struck by the sharp prick of pain penetrating my skin. My mother just stabbed me in the back in a way I never thought possible. I’m panting and sweaty, but I couldn’t care less how I appear because my mother just broke my heart all over again.
How could she do this to me? How could she do this to my dad?
With nothing but my father on my mind, the one man who deserved to live more than any other man on this earth, I just keep on running, harder and faster, until I find myself collapsing in a heap on the ground, in the one place I haven’t been to in four weeks. Four whole weeks! So much has happened in that period, yet as I gasp for air, I know nothing has changed around here apart from more orange and red leaves scattered across the grass. I sit for the next ten minutes, mopping my brow and steadying my breathing. I’ve never run so fast in my life. I recollect the numerous times Izzy used to bolt from her house, across the fields and streets to mine. I’m immediately overwhelmed by a newfound respect for her, comprehending how the adrenaline kept her going.
Crawling closer to his headstone, I curl up in a ball and rest my shoulder against it. I crave his warm, strong touch now more than ever. At least when he was here, I knew for certain I was loved. Parents are supposed to love you unconditionally and vice versa, not betray you and break your trust this way. If she loved either of us at all, she wouldn’t do this. She might as well be dancing on his grave. He’s been gone all of five months, and she’s sleeping with another man. Technically, if what I heard on my birthday was right, it was a matter of six weeks. No one does that. No decent person who is grieving their husband of twenty years does that, and I can't even think of the possibility that this may have been going on while Dad was alive.
My mind races into overdrive, coming up with another handful of insane possibilities. He was a dying man. It’s just not possible. I refuse to believe she would stoop so low. No mother of mine would do that. There is no way my dad was in love with a woman capable of that. Even sat here now, I’m racked with guilt at the knowledge I’m burdened with. I just want it all to go away. I desperately want it all to disappear. I want the ground to swallow me up so I can be with him again. I just want my dad back. Nothing else. Just him. I need him to reassure me everything will be okay. A new wave of tears takes over as I sit quivering against the cold, hard stone. Frantically twisting the ring on my finger, I wait for some kind of sign, anything to get me through this without wanting to hurt the woman who brought me into this world.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so, so sorry.”
I’ve known for ages something was going on, but I forced the possibility to the back of my mind, convincing myself there was no way on earth she would ever do this. If I had approached her sooner, tried to talk to her, opened up a little more like the nurses advised me to then maybe, just maybe, this god awful situation wouldn’t be happening now. I blame myself for the part I’ve played. I should have defended my dad’s honour like the promise I made in church. I’ve failed him as a daughter. I’ve failed myself.
“Please forgive me, Dad. Please,” I beg.
As my body begins to tire, and I almost give up any hope of acknowledgement, it hits me.
Literally, hits me.
The first few specks are quite light, but as it continues to pour, the overcast sky opens up into a deluge. I should find shelter, or at least try to find a way to keep dry, but all I can do is choke out an astonished snort. With each drop, my chuckle grows louder and louder as I grasp what is happening. I have a sudden urge to leap to my feet, like I once did as a child and twirl around in circles, allowing my hands to dance to the pitter patter sound. I’m sodden wet and freezing to death, but hell, this is the most exhilarating sign he could have sent. Even beyond the grave, he remembers how much I used to love dancing in the rain. It was satisfying to be so carefree, splashing around in the muddy puddles with nothing to worry about but having fun. It brought a huge smile to my face back then, and it's certainly doing that now. Mum used to go mad at how dirty I was, but my dad always stepped in to defend me, a contented grin on his face as if to say, ‘Well done, Paris.’
Positioning my legs wide apart, I tilt my head up to the sky and shut my eyes tight. The water begins to run down my tingling body, taking the stress away with it. I’m defying my mum all over again. I just pray my dad is bouncing around up there with a huge grin on his face like he used to. The mere image comforts me, providing a short burst of peace. Even though I’m shaking, I feel calm. I adore the liberation I experience from thrill seeking. I can’t see how that will ever change in my life. It’s who I am; it’s what he shaped me to be, purposely or not. The highs don’t usually last long and the fall back down to earth hits harder each time. Nevertheless, I’ll take it right now. I’ll take any minuscule slice of absolution I can get.
Nine
25th October 2000
I spent the night in the tree house – the one place that feels more like home to me now than anywhere else. It wasn’t the comfiest of spots but at least it was dry and after a change of clothes, I managed to take the chill out of my weary bones. I’m not certain as to what time I finally dozed off, but I remember the distinct chirping of a little bird perched outside on the roof, and the first rays of light had begun to appear. I deliberated over texting Mav but in the end, I decided against it. She would have been here in a shot, no doubt about that, but I didn’t want her to worry about me. She’s spent months doing that already. She deserves a break from the shambles that is my life, and part of me worries she would try to convince me to talk it out with Mum. That’s the very last thing I intend on doing. I almost rang Lori. She would have plied me with copious amounts of alcohol, and we would have got wasted, insisting families are a waste of time. However, I would have paid the price for it today. I have plenty of time to lose myself in a bottle or a bloke when I get back to halls. Instead, I opted for the consolation prize… My own company.
Just when I was finding my feet, I have been knocked back off them. It’s one disappointment quickly followed by another. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I always hoped my mum wasn’t capable of being with another man. I realise now how wrong I’ve been. I set myself up for the fall. I saw all the warning signs but I chose to ignore them because I thought she loved me enough to at least speak to
me about these things, not keep secrets, lie and play me for a fool. I’ve spent most of the night trying to find some logic in any of this, but each time I come up blank. There is no reason good enough, in my eyes, for her to do this. None whatsoever. I will never be able to find it in my heart to forgive. I just won’t. No matter how many explanations or apologies I'm forced to listen to, the deep cut in my heart from this will never heal.
I’ve done all the wallowing I’m prepared to do over this. The only pain I will allow myself to feel over this is disappointment. No more guilt. It’s pure anger that spurs me on now to face my mother. I don’t want answers or shoddy, half-hearted excuses. I just need to grab my stuff and get the hell out of her life. I’m still bemused as to how she thought I might react. The only conclusion I can come up with is that she’s a coward. She knew I’d be upset as hell, she knew it was too soon, but she couldn’t stop herself. She just could not put her daughter first after everything we have been through over the past two years. As far as I’m concerned, she and I are done.
I once questioned how Izzy’s mother could stand by and watch her father abusing her without saying a word, her own flesh and blood who she is supposed to love unconditionally, and now it kills me to realise that my own mother is no different. It may be a totally different situation, but she’s supposed to love me completely, yet her selfish actions have landed me in the same place as Izzy was… Broken.
Our relationship will never be the same again.
Bringing my march to a stop at the top of the drive, I swing my bag from my shoulder and rummage eagerly to find my bunch of keys and let myself in. The more my hand delves, the more anxious I become. Please, please, please be in here. Then it suddenly dawns on me: I left them on the table yesterday.
“Shit.”
My shoulders sag at the realisation of what I have to do, my anger dissolving rapidly into defeat. This is not going to end well. When I knew I could barge in there, hopefully avoiding any contact, I felt like I had the power. But now there is no way I can get in without having to face someone. The thought of a confrontation with Mum is bad enough, but the idea of having to come face-to-face with her fancy piece creates a sick tightening in the pit of my tummy. I can’t bear to think about how his voice sounds or what he smells like. He won’t be a patch on my dad. He will never come close to being able to replace such an amazing man.
Paris Hemsworth's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 2) Page 6
